Of Ones and Zeroes
by AzureForest
Summary: There wasn't much else to do but roam in their digital confinement, so Marth roamed, before stumbling upon some older files and reminiscing... Can AIs even have memories? (Digital AU, oneshot, platonic.)


Everything around him hummed with energy, the silent rushing of processes echoing and ringing through his head, the circuits gleamed green. Everything he could see around him was a pixelated mess at the moment, probably because it was- A short journey into the undeveloped and unfinished part of the game. A short glimpse, that's all. Albeits the 'short' may not apply any more, as he had been standing there for the past... How long was it again? Time was difficult to keep track of here.

Looming before him was an unused folder, a shell of programming that could've been. A stage here, a move there, a few frames of unused animation. It was all there, but it never happened, never really existed. The files were there, but they were closed off to the public, to them. But the movesets didn't concern him.

The cut characters did.

Not being able to enter the place, he sat down, still staring down the folder, as if it would magically open if he did so long enough.

Now that the new... Tournament was drawing near, everything was even more in a jumble than ever before, more glitches and bugs in the system than when the last tournament, Brawl, took place. New graphics, new characters, everything was new, even the body he currently had taken the form of- It had all changed while he was in stasis, he had been confirmed as a regular now, no longer in danger of being cut.

As soon as he had opened his eyes, the tangles of codes, models and frames the outsiders had dubbed 'Smashers' gave him a warm welcome, patted him on the back for making it back. He scanned the faces for anyone looking like they were from his series, but to no avail. Nevertheless, he was glad to see his old comrades in arms and peace, along with the new faces. He nearly jumped for joy when Ike was confirmed to return, but he didn't. He couldn't humiliate himself in front of the newcomers, as the ruler of his kingdom- _Also a figment of someone's imagination- _And a man of royal upbringing.

Every now and then, someone had to be shut down for maintenance for a moment, for improvement or additions, both were fine by any of them- But they were mainly for the 'players that lived outside of their confinement to enjoy. He envied them, in a way. They weren't controlled by the flick of a control stick, by the plans of the programmers- But he was thankful for the latter all the same, the ones who made it possible to bring all these warriors together, who gave them life, existence. The AI still resented many outside the sphere, though, at least a little bit, as much as he didn't want to admit it.

* * *

They were being called.

The air around him rang with the voice of that accursed, irritating announcer, boring into his head and making him wince. Only seconds later, he was whisked away in a flurry of data to the place called the Character Selection room, for yet another demo run. Mario glanced over to the prince with a tired smile, Wii Fit Trainer, a newcomer, was steeling herself for the oncoming battle and the possibility of the game crashing- Again. Their movesets were drilled into their minds once more, reminding them of their duty- _Heed the players._ Oh, how lucky the others not included in the demo were.

The blunet stood up straighter, as did everyone else, waiting with baited breath for the outsiders to make their choices and four gloved hands materialised before them. Cursors.

Two of them floated over to Megaman, one to Greninja and the last one to Link. The three chosen fighters groaned, before disappearing to the stage in a flash of light. They couldn't relax yet. They could see the line of waiting people growing.

* * *

Marth watched in horror as their movements lagged, his strikes became less precise, until everybody slowed to a stop completely. Then, without warning, they were plunged into darkness. The game had frozen again. Quiet grumbling drifted over to him from where Little Mac was standing, complaining from Sonic's. Well, this is what comes from demos, such situations were to be expected. The prince dearly hoped the final version would be better, which it will be.

All of them had faith in Sakurai and his team.

* * *

It was over, they could retire to roaming around the database once more. Ike was the first to approach the fatigued prince as always and wordlessly put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Marth's posture relaxed as he gave a nod at Ike in both acknowledgement and gratitude. He should have never doubted that the Crimean would return, the other had returned despite the odds.

A good friend he hoped would last for a lifetime. Or as long as technology allowed him to.

The duo spent the rest of their time in silence, staring off into the distance.

_Do friends ever last?_

* * *

Finally, he had managed to access the now deactivated Melee files. Running his fingers through the still figure's hair, his throat went dry as he laughed, a strained laugh that showed that he did not know how to deal with this situation. The old battle model seemed oddly dark and bulky in comparison to the Smash 4 models. So much improvement. He wished the other were there to witness it. Why was he scrapped at the last moment, anyways? Why was his game never released in the Western World, in a language they could understand? He looked down at the deactivated redhead, wishing that he would open his eyes, grin as he always did, and answer. Wishful thinking didn't hurt anyone, right?

Right. (He was dying on the inside, but he wouldn't admit that.)

A small 'ding' came from an alarm put nearby. It seemed as if his time here was up. He tried not to dwell on Roy's departure. (He had to force himself not to think of it.) A bitter smile came to his face as he turned around, being pulled away by some unseen force. Away from the jumble of unfinished rendering, animations, designs. Roy wouldn't return. It was foolish of him to think so. The stowed away his own records, deep into a dusty corner of his conscience- Records of battles, friendship and memories.

They would be erased in due time, anyways, when the game become old and overused, when the next generations become bored of them. Because even game series can die, either suddenly or slowly, detoriating and disappearing from memory. He felt a pang of sympathy for Pit, left lying there for an entire twenty-five years, his inclusion in Brawl one of the only things spurring him forwards at the time.

Marth trudged out, chancing one more glance backwards.

If only...

If only it were possible to restore those files...


End file.
